


The Saints Can't Help Me Now

by Emeraldawn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dark, Gift Fic, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Possession, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 18:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeraldawn/pseuds/Emeraldawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little by little the darkness takes over</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Saints Can't Help Me Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imera/gifts).



> This is a REALLY late Christmas gift fic for Imera. I really stepped out of my zone on this one, not only writing a pairing I never written before, but much darker than I have ever written before.
> 
> Thank you, Cal for the preread/points. Your highlights are probably half this fic. And also Killpurakat, for making sure I am still typing in a readable language.

“Scott, focus! Man, stay with me just a little bit longer,” Stiles repeated for the umpteenth time, giving Scott something to center on. He didn’t know how anchoring his voice would be, or if it would even work. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore since their little death walk. If the wolf was close enough, then it might not help to differentiate friend from foe. And Stiles would need to start considering running _away_ rather than running _with_.

And stupid, stubborn Scott had, once again, not listened to Stiles. No, he wanted to go to the damn party instead. Just like his first full moon after he was bitten, Scott thought he knew what was best. He was an Alpha now after all. 

But Stiles knew better. 

He could feel it, their sanity fracturing, like cracked glass spider-webbing under pressure. He knew when Scott was fighting to keep control, trying not to give into feasting on blood, flesh, and chaos. 

He could even feel Allison’s turmoil haunt her waking dreams whenever he was near her, forcing her to turn away from Scott and into Isaac’s arms. But Isaac wouldn’t be able to help her. She was doomed to fall like the rest of them. 

He could feel it all, as strong as he could feel the darkness ringing his own soul.

Breaking through the tree line, Stiles’s grip on Scott tightened. “Just a little farther in, Scott. Just a little more distance between us and intrusive eyes and ears.” He was aiming for a group of trees that clustered around a massive Northern Redwood, hoping it was far enough away.

He could feel the pointed tips of Scott’s claws sting his forearm through his flannel. Scott’s breathing quickened, losing the battle for control at a faster rate. Stiles looked over his shoulder. Their school was hidden behind numerous trees and only a low base beat could still be heard.

This would have to do.

Letting Scott go, Stiles took two steps back. He didn’t know what Scott would do. Before they awakened the Nemeton, Scott had fought to learn control, keeping his wolf-outs to life or death situations. The sight of Allison kissing Isaac _would_ have put him into a depression worthy of any Placebo song, but not into having to fight off even so much as a half-shift. Now, Stiles couldn't even pretend to know what Scott was capable of.

Stiles saw the very second when Scott stopped fighting the shift, his whole body looking at peace before he melted into his beta form, hair sprouting down his jaw line and teeth elongating into fangs. The transformation caused Stiles to take another step back, closer to the large tree as his feet shifting in the dust. The motion brought Scott’s focus on him. 

Red eyes pinned Stiles where he stood. Scott unnaturally twisted his body to face Stiles head on. Stiles should have been afraid, he knew that, but when he was next to Scott or Allison when they let loose into the darkness, it was the only time _his_ soul was giddy. Almost deliriously so, to the point where Stiles thought he was going to fall into Joker-style maniacal laughter. 

Scott took two quick steps, backing Stiles into the rough redwood behind him. Heightened speed had Stiles’s hands pinned above him, Scott’s claws scraping the bark as he held both wrists. 

“Stiles.” Scott’s voice had an odd echo to it, as if he were hollow inside. Looking into Scott’s alpha eyes, Stiles could see that assumption wasn’t far from the truth; the black flecks floating in pools of red were telling. For a brief moment, Stiles felt a sharp sting of panic. Were his own eyes changing? Would his father look him in the eye one day and, instead of seeing honey whiskey, only decaying black would look back at him?

Stiles could feel his muscles bunch, ready to fight against Scott’s hold. But as quickly as the fear came, Stiles’s body relaxed. It wasn’t like he was calming down from a panic; rather, he was slipping into nothingness. He knew the darkness was taking control, and he just didn’t have the strength to care as it left him watching through unemotional eyes. 

Scott took advantage of Stiles’s lax body, pressing closer, until his nose brushed Stiles’s adam’s apple, skimming up and exposing more of Stiles’s neck. Stiles felt hot breath slowly exhale from Scott’s parted lips, heating his chilled skin. He knew Scott’s pointed fangs were just inches away, close enough to punch through his tender flesh. But Stiles didn’t fight it, couldn’t fight it, no matter how much he screamed, _This is wrong_ , in his mind. His mouth never made a sound. He could do nothing more than wait.

Scott pulled back until Stiles could see _its_ face again. No, not Scott. Something else was manipulating the body before him. Stiles had never found Scott, in his beta form, to be anything more than an overgrown puppy. That wasn’t what Stiles saw. Everything took on a twisted edge of insanity. And Stiles had seen that look too many times in the last year. Kate. Peter. Fucking _Gerard_ with betas chained in his basement and raining blows on kidnapped teenaged boys. Yes, Stiles was looking into the thing Scott feared most: lost control and abandonment into power.

Placing his free hand on Stiles’s neck, Scott’s razor sharp claw traced the vein that ran up the side. Stiles stood still, watching his best friend’s body watch him back, only the leaves twisting around them in the breeze. Stiles heard that voice again, the real him. _All Scott has to do is flex his fingers and he would rip into flesh and blood, tearing your throat out. Killing you._

“You’re so good, Stiles, so good. You always stay by my side.” The thing wearing Scott’s face curled its fingers slightly, talking slowly, working the sounds out around its fangs, in that voice that wasn’t Scott’s at all. “Not like her.” 

Stiles felt the slight prick from the tip of Scott’s claw, that voice screaming at him to move, to fight, but Stiles didn’t twitch a finger. The feeling of emotionlessness spread, taking away the worry and the pain Stiles had been fighting for weeks. 

Scott’s eyes were drawn to the spot where Stiles felt the nick, pupils narrowing. Stiles stood abnormally still as Scott rubbed the pad of his thumb up and crossed his cheek, leaving a trail of warm, thick blood in its wake. Stiles could feel it chill in the cold air quickly. “You look so good in red, Stiles. I want to hunt with you as a pack, and bathe you in it.” 

Lowering his nose, the _thing_ that had taken over Scott sniffed the blood on Stiles’s cheek. “You don’t smell enough like pack. I need you to smell like werewolf. Smell owned. Smell like mine.”

Dragging a clawed finger down, Scott traced a tendon on Stiles’s neck, catching the collar of his shirt. “Going to make you mine, Stiles. When the other wolves smell you, they’ll know whose pack you belong to.”

Keeping Stiles’s hands pinned above him, Scott let his hand drift down the front of Stiles’s shirt, cutting through the blue cotton like a warm knife through butter. Cold air peppering goose bumps on his chest. Stiles shivered from the soft graze of Scott’s claws, the blood rushing to pool in his groin and making his breathing hitch.

Scott's gaze drifted down, following the track of his own hands as they hovered around the waist of Stiles's jeans. He brushed Stiles's hips with the tips of his claws, teasing and drawing out fine tremors from the boy’s body as they strayed over soft, fragile skin.

When Scott’s eyes finally looked back up, they were darker, almost consumed in black. He shifted forward, thigh pressing between Stiles's legs, and even though Stiles _felt_ disgust, he couldn't show it. He couldn't do anything other than sit as a spectator as his cock grew hot and heavy while Scott moved against his thigh. From the smirk on Scott’s face--a cocky half smile that was more Jackson’s purview--he enjoyed Stiles’s reaction too.

“Do you know how strong we could be?” Scott’s voice held that same hollowed sound, not that Stiles noticed much with how hard he was getting under Scott’s manipulations. 

“Of course, Scott,” Stiles heard his own voice respond, the same hollow echo that Scott’s had. Somewhere in a far, small corner of his mind, Stiles could feel a panicked warning sound, screaming at him to fight, turn, _run_. “A true alpha, with darkness in his soul. No morals, or fears to pin you down.”

Scott’s smile widened to a manical, toothy grin. “And you, a spark, empty of emotion, where the darkness ate it away. A boy that runs with wolves, who will dance to the drums of beating hearts, under the moon, covered in red.” Running his thumb over Stiles’s lower abs, Scott leaned in, lowering his voice. “I can’t wait to paint you in the blood of our kills.”

Scott lowered his other hand, placing it on the tree next to Stiles’s head. A quick flick of his wrist and Stiles felt his pants loosen and heard the fly lower. Scott pulled out Stiles’s hardened length, tracing the base with feather light claw tips. The true Stiles, reduced to a voice in his own head, cringed at the thought of being fondled by five sharp weapons, even if it was more a power play than a warning. He could feel the alpha’s need to dominate him. 

Released from the hold, Stiles watched his own fingers twitching towards Scott’s fly, undoing the button and zip with quick, confident motions. No matter how loud he yelled at himself to push Scott away, to punch him in the throat, to make a break and run for it, to fucking _scream_ , knowing any of the werewolves at the school would hear him, his hands only continued what they were doing, lowering Scott’s pants past his hips. He let them fall, bunching around the ankles. 

And Scott, or he should say the _other_ in Scott, didn’t do a damn thing to force him. Instead he focused on Stiles’s cock. “You’re suffocating me with the smell of your need.” Claws caressed the inside of his trembling thighs. “You’re _throbbing_ with it.”

Maybe it was good that his rational side was tucked deep inside him. Stiles hoped it was the same for Scott. It might be the only way for the both of them to get through this. Scratch that. He really hoped Scott had no memory of this at all. He knew Scott would only beat himself up for how he had treated Stiles. Even if he wasn’t the one actually pulling the strings.

Resting his forearm against the tree, Scott leaned into Stiles, pressing his body firmly into the bark. Twisting his fingers in Stiles’s messy hair, Scott yanked back Stiles’s head, exposing the long column of his neck to the monster in his friend. Tracing the beating pulse, Scott licked a path from Stiles’s collar bone to behind his ear. Stiles could feel a fang lightly scrape his skin, reminding him how easy it would be to have the sharpened canines pierce his flesh.

Scott grasped one of Stiles’s hands, covering the boy’s pale palm with his own larger, claw-tipped hand. Interlocking their fingers, Scott wrapped their hands in a firm grip around his own cock. Bucking his hips, Scott set his own pace, tightening and loosening their grip to his liking. 

Stiles’s mind tried to will his mouth to open, to tell Scott to stop. To fight the darkness, the demons, or whatever was possessing them both. To not make his first time backed up against a tree, in a power play for Allison. 

But nothing came out. He was trapped in himself, drowning in fear. A puppet, and nothing more.

Scott’s breath quickened, his hips picking up speed. His thigh slapped against Stiles’s own, his balls hitting the tips of their fingers. The rhythmic flesh-on-flesh sounds and Scott’s low growls mixed with the buzzing of the fireflies and the rustle of forest debris around them. 

There was no build-up when _it_ came. It was as impersonal as Stiles imagined a quick handjob in the men’s room at school would be. Quiet, fast, and the evidence destroyed in the end. Only instead of wiping him up with a shirt or leaves or _something_ , Scott was rubbing his jizz into his skin like lotion. Across his belly, up his sides, reaching as far as it would spread. 

Scott stepped back, surveying his work - nose flaring, _scenting_ Stiles’s debauchery. “Good, Stiles. You smell so good now.” 

It was like a trigger word. Stiles felt a rush to his head that made his knees buckle, losing all sound around him but that of his own blood roaring in his ears. He felt an electrifying tingle across his skin, come landing on the dirt between their feet. His body pulled its orgasm from him, wanting to please the darkness that had taken over Scott. 

Only he didn’t feel the satisfying pleasure that came with the aftermath of an orgasm. He felt empty, hollow. Hurt. _Ashamed_. And with each beat of his heart and struggling breath, the feeling grew. The _other_ in him loosened its grip on his being and gave up control to a panicked Stiles. 

Feeling weak, like his legs were made of rubber, Stiles couldn’t hold his weight anymore. The _thing_ that looked like Scott reached for him, lowering both of them to the ground. Stiles felt the frozen dirt under his naked ass, which became a strange anchor to consciousness and kept him from fainting from the massive headache that was forming. 

This time, when Stiles called out for Scott to come back, he heard his own voice. Cracked and broken, like he’d been screaming for hours, but it was _his_ voice. Too weak to get the werewolf off of him, Stiles just sat in his hold, letting his possessed friend tell him what a good pack member Stiles was. The music that carried from the school mocked him. A sharp reminder that they would never be normal teenagers.

He knew Scott and he were far more fucked than they’d thought. “It’s okay, Stiles.” One claw pushed a lock of hair off Stiles’s forehead. “You haven’t given into the darkness as much as I have. Each time, it will get easier. Rest now, and tomorrow we’ll complete our circle. We’ll get our Hunter.”


End file.
